The Day the Game Wouldn't End, PART 1
by TigressLily
Summary: actually, it should be days. more quidditch, no plot as of yet, or at least none that you can unravel, but there's a bit of a mystery going around. anyhow, r/r, i'm currently not happy because i went from 1/14 to 1/16 in a couple of days


The Day the Game Wouldn't End  
Part I  
  
Well, I'm slightly depressed right now, having gotton only six reviews on ch 8 of my l/j fic, which i will continue despite lack of support, but i had an inspiration (yes, i know, another one) about quidditch. I'm obsessed. That's okay.  
  
  
Stop. Please stop. I think I'm going crazy. I'm talking to myself now, how great. Oh, I wish he'd stop.  
  
Ron's eyes had glazed over and were beginning to close. His head rested on the table, a look of utter pain etched on his face. Harry noticed, with a small amount of disgust, the growing pile of drool collect around Ron's mouth. Not that Harry could really blame his friend, considering the circumstances.  
  
"... the Damscus spell played a large role in World Relations, enabling countries to 'virtually' represent themselves, while remaining with their regualar duties." Even Proffessor Binns looked bored with himself as he droned on. "It was how Maria Theresa was able to speak to the ruler of England while holding conference with Fredrick, as he was totally unaware..."  
  
The ghost went on. Not even Hermione feigned the slightest bit of intrest. It seemed like ages before the bell brought the moaning ghost to a halt, and the students darted out of the room, Proffessir Binns still rambling on.  
  
"...however, in the Policy Act of 1962, the spell was banned, and has since been destroyed or strictly guarded..."  
  
"I thought he was never going to stop." Ron rubbed his eyes, which were slightly red. "Can't Dumbledore get rid of him? Really...-"  
  
"Ron, you know perfectly well you can't get rid of a ghost!" Hermione was in a snappish mood, she had enjoyed Proffessor Binns speech no more than Ron. "What are you going to do with him, retire him because he's too old?"  
  
"We could try to smile, you know." Harry's face was darker than either of their's. He brightened slightly. "We're playing Slytherin tommorrow." His hand's twisted slightly around his History book. Ron guessed he was imagining Malfoy's neck, and probably wasn't very far off.  
  
"You'll be careful, won't you?" Hermione assumed the role of nagging. "Though I suppose after avoiding that Hungarian Horntail a couple of Slytherins wouldn't be too much trouble..."  
  
"Wouldn't you like to think so." Ron whirled around, but Hermione and Harry took there time. Malfoy drawled on. "We're going to beat you, Potter. No sense in avoid in the facts."  
  
Ron had a dangerous look in his eye, and was brandishing his wand in a slightly menacing way. Harry stepped forward.  
  
  
"Couldn't agree more myself," Harry said coolly. "Facts are an important things to face. But when the facts of your defeat, Malfoy, not mine, come pelting towards you face in the form of bludgers, I suggest you duck."  
  
Malfoy's sadistic smile writhed like a snake, and twisted into a hard grimance. "Don't be so certain, Potter. It's going to be an intresting game." He spun around to leave, Crabbe and Goyle tagging behind like dogs their owners.  
  
"I wonder what he meant by that?" Harry pondered aloud, rubbing his scar slightly. It had twinged.  
  
"He probably meant that it would be intresting to see his face stuffed in-" Ron began vehemently, but was cut off by Hermione.  
  
"Harry!" She exclaimed, watching Harry rub his scar. "Your scar's not bothering you, is it? If it is, you should probably tell Dumbledore, he'll know what to do..."  
  
She said it all quite fast, and Harry was forced to switch his hand from his forehead to his ear. "Hermione, it's fine. Just itching a bit."  
  
"Well..." Hermione looked doubtful, but she didn't press it further.  
  
Ron pushed open the door to the Great Hall. "Food!" he exclaimed, sliding into the Gryffindor table next to his younger sister. "Hey, Gin, what's up?"  
  
"Nothing, really." Ginny looked unhappy as she twirled her food around with a fork.  
  
Ron didn't notice. Harry and Hermione, with slightly more grace, sat on the bench across from them, and dug into the food. Hermione mumbled something about house elves, not yet having quite recovered from the effects of SPEW, but ate the food anyhow.  
  
"Ron..." George swooped down on his brother, pushing himself between Ginny and Ron.  
  
"Brother..." Fred took his other side, and draped his arm around in brotherly fashion.  
  
"What do you want?" Ron asked irratably, slamming his fork down.  
  
"We were wondering..."  
  
"...do you know the password to Dumbledore's office?" Fred finished for his brother.  
  
"Bugger Beans? I don't know, ask Harry. Ron slouched away from his brothers, who looked at Harry entreatingly.  
  
Harry shrugged. "Try ever type of odd flavored candy," he guessed. "You'll probably stumble onto it eventually.  
  
"Why do you need to know, anyhow?" Hermione asked, looking suspicious. "You're not going to do anything forbidden, are you?" She repriminded them with a stern glare.  
  
"No, no." George said quickly.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"Hermione, I'm hurt that you would think that badly of us." Fred gave her a pathetic look.  
  
Ginny smiled at her brother's antics, and the corners of Hermione's mouth began to twitch. "Well...just make sure you don't."  
  
"Yes, mother." Fred gave her one last, childish look before scurrying off.  
  
"I wonder why they need the password," Harry thought aloud, idly playing with his food. Then he realized what he was doing; playing with his food instead of eating it, and decided he had more important things to do. The mystery of Fred and George and Dumbledore's office could wait for a rainy day when there was no food to be found.  
  
"Ginny, are you okay?" Hermione looked concerned. Both boys were now totally absorbed in their food.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Ginny waved her hand as though to prove her point. She smiled slightly. "Just worried about school and stuff... the usual..." her voice trailed off, and Hermione smiled pityingly. The 'usual' most definitely included Harry.  
  
"Are you sure?" Hermione pressed, feeling as though she should ask at least one more time.  
  
"Positive." Ginny attempted to cover up her frown with a sad smile. "It's nothing, really." Hermione still looked doubtful; nothings were usually somethings.  
  
"Daydreaming over Potter, Weasly?" Malfoy's voice never failed to have the disruptful, drawling element to it. Harry jumped at the sound of his name, and Ginny looked close to tears. He leaned a bit closer. "Or maybe...something else." He smiled nastily, the type of smile someone wears when they know something. Hermione frowned, studying him, but she didn't need to. Malfoy reveiled his motives be shoving a neat, short letter across the table. Ginny grabbed it before anyone else got a good look.  
  
"Where did you get that?" Ginny had turned a pale color, her red freckles becoming a bright contrast to her skin.  
  
Malfoy just laughed. "Someone dropped it in potions... very intresting content, I might add..."  
  
And then Ginny did something she had never done before, although if there had been any doubters that she was Ron's younger sister, they were soon replaced.  
  
She slapped him.  
  
Malfoy drew a hand to his now red cheek, eyes glinting furiously. "I wouldn't do that, Weasly," he told her, in a low, treachorous voice. Ron jumped up, but Hermione pulled him back down before he could do anything dumb.  
  
"And I would go away, Malfoy." Harry stood up behind Ginny. "Now."   
  
Malfoy scowled and left.  
  
Ginny kept her face, which had turned from white to red, down, and was neatly folding up the letter.  
  
"What was that about?" Ron asked, frowning now that he'd calmed down. Malfoy's presence seemed to have an odd affect on him.  
  
"Nothing." Ginny stuck out her chin stubbornly. She shoved the letter into her pocket. "I've got to go."  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched her go. "Intresting end to the week," Ron commented, half heartedly.  
  
"And there's Quidditch tommorrow." Harry sighed, and went back to his food.  
  
  
  
The ceiling in the great hall proclaimed a grey, overcast morning with a light wind, but through the blurry morning eyes of the Quidditch team it might well have been pink. Their only consolation in their baggy eyed, yawn smothered and quite frankly nervous breakfast was that the Slytherins, all the way at the other end of the hall, were acting in much the same way.  
  
"Pass the turnips, please," Angelina said tiredly. Fred gave her a slightly bewildered look.  
  
"Love to, but there aren't any." He indicated the row of food with a drooping arm. No turnips werre seen anywhere.  
  
"Oh." And the Quidditch captain promptly fell asleep in her porridge.  
  
"You know, I almost miss Wood," George said, tracing brooms with his finger in the air. "Time's like this he'd be wide awake-" A glance to the sleeping Angelina "-and giving us the 'do or die' motivating speech." George really sounded wistful.  
  
"He always meant it, too." Fred sighed. "Quidditch was...well, his life."  
  
"Poor Oliver." Alicia tried to look serious, but giggled slightly. "'This is no time to be a gentlemen!'" She mimicked. "'KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TOO!'"  
  
There were smiles across the anxious table. Fred prodded the sleeping Angelina lightly. "I think we better go," he told her softly.  
  
"Oh!" She exclaimed, looking at least slightly more awake, though bits of porridge were stuck in her hair. "Right! Time to go down to the field... Harry, are you awake?" With the last statement, she removed Harry's wand from his unresisting hand and tapped him sharply on the head with it.  
  
"What?" Harry moaned, his eyes surrounded by dark circles. "Oh, no," he said, noticing the Quidditch team. His head landed heavily back on the table. Fred and George, sensing a job, promtly dragged Harry to feet, propelling him off as they sang in rowdy voices 'We are morning people! Get up, get up get up. We are morning people..."  
  
Harry tried his best to sink into his shoulders so his ears would be spared this torture.  
  
But as the team entered the Quidditch field, several hours later, they managed to make themselves slightly presentably in their scarlet robes, which stood out brightly among the grey of the day. Colin Creevy's camera was clicking away, as he tried to capture the 'dramatic moment in the life of Harry Potter.' Hermione and Ginny smiled and waved from the stands. Ron was taking lessons from the imfamous school commentator Lee Jordan, though so far had seen only how to curse in several different languages, all of which proved unhelpful in trying to fix the magic amplifier.  
  
It could have been a showdown, although certainly not in a Western Town. More like the plains of England (which was of course, where they were) on it's rainiest, foggiest day ever. Harry scowled as it began to drizzle, thankful yet again that Hermione had enchanted his glasses.  
  
The Slytherins approached from the other end of the field, looking like a revolting snake as is slithered across the field. For better or worse, Marcus Flint was gone, replaced by Warrignton, the ugly ferocious beater. Though slightly bigger than even Marcus, he was also much dumber, so he compensated for himself.  
  
He smiled at the second year, Natalie McDonald, who was looking rather nervous before her first game as Gryffindor keeper. She smiled shyly back.  
  
"And here come's the two teams, marching off into a wet, grizzley, battlefield." Lee was apparently either attempting to show off for his trainee, or had read one too many romances over the summer.  
  
Ron, in his Quidditch speaker debut, continued. "For Gryffindor, we have new captain Johnsen, Spinnet, Bell, Potter, Weasly, Weasly, and, making her debut as keeper, MCDONALD!"  
  
A resounding cheer went up through the stands, effectively muffling the Slytherins boos. Lee continued with the Slytherin line up with slightly less enthusiasm.  
  
Madam Hooch stood at the center of the field as the twoo teams approahed, brooms held before them like weapons. "Now, shake hands," she told the two captains. Angelina extended a graceful hand out of her robes, but Bole just scratched his head.  
  
"Uhhhh..." He looked thoroughly confused at being asked to do something that didn't envolve pounding somone.  
  
"Take her hand..." Madam Hooch was straining her patience as she watched Bole, with some hesitation, grasp Angelina's hand "...and shake it. NO!" She exclaimed, watching Bole's eye's light up. She place her hand on top of theirs. "Gently," she told Bole, removing his hand before any harm could be done.  
  
"Ready?" She yelled, voice cutting across the rain. She blew her whistle, and fourteen players rose into the air.  
  
  
  
I know, that seemed rather plotless, but there's more going on here that just a quidditch game...which will go on for quite awhile, in case you were wondering. Anyhow, r/r, tell me what you think, plot will develope, i promise, rught now i'm jsut being lazy. 


End file.
